


Obscurum

by WolfsLegend



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Blood Lust, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, If You Squint - Freeform, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Shadows - Freeform, Triforce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfsLegend/pseuds/WolfsLegend
Summary: He didn't like those looks, the looks that told him everything. They were curious but judgmental. He saw them everywhere he went... everywhere. They were curious because he resembled the land's favored hero, the Hero of Time; they were judgmental because he looked like the hero overturned. No, he was not their beloved "Link." Far from it in fact.Created in the depths of darkness, the dark anti-Hero strives for both acceptance and a life of his own. However, a shadow of a Hero is nothing but a remnant. He will always be the shadow of Link, nothing more, and he will do anything to change that.





	1. The Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> This concept has been with me since 2010 and has undergone many edits and revisions... I'll likely still re-edit most chapters until I'm satisfied... by anyways, PLEASE be warned that this fanfiction will include violence, gore, and blood lust. 
> 
> In addition, this fanfiction can also be found on FF under WolfsLegend.

_**Obscurum** _

_**Rated M for violence** _

* * *

 

**Chapter 01 – Traveler**

" _You will always be a monster - there is no turning back from it. But what kind of monster you become is entirely up to you."_

― Julie Kagawa, _The Eternity Cure_

* * *

He didn't like those looks… the looks that told him _everything_. They were curious, judgmental, and somewhat confused. He saw them everywhere he went. Everywhere. They were curious and confused because he resembled the land's favored hero, the Hero of Time; they were judgmental because he looked like the hero overturned. It made him sick, to be placed next to the rotten pet of the Goddesses. No, he was not their beloved _Link_. He'd had to reiterate that time and time again and had even gone as far as to drive his begrimed blade through their hearts to get them to understand that one, _simple_ fact.

Yes, he appeared as the Hero, came with every Hero to act as their eternal 'shadow.' One could not live without the other. Of course, he wasn't feeling true distaste to that fact. After his first taste of temporary freedom and having waited for what felt like an eternity for the Hero to stumble into his domain, life could not have felt so… delightful. For after that fateful day, the Hero had felt ashamed. That Hero, that man was so frail and merciful that the very thought of being created in his appearance made the inverted man shudder.

Walking further down the path, he cared little of the blood that dripped from the very folds of his blackened tunic. On the contrary, he embraced the soaked clothes with a smile and open arms. The scent of death that reeked of raw, burnt flesh… that coppery scent… he loved it all. To speak the truth, the sight and smell of blood - even the presence of it - made him feel giddy. It was the medicine to his insanity. An especially delightful medicine when he himself had killed off a single village.

At the mere thought of such a wonderful deed, he glanced over his shoulder at the horizon. Crimson irises - deepest of reds - eyed the quaint village that he had visited just moments before, and a dark twist of his lips formed at the sight of the moonlit mountains. The village denizens, like many before them, had shown him such peace and hospitality to the point where it made him ill.

It made it all the more fun to kill them. Each and every one fell from his blade. Blood spilled across the ground, the floors, painted the village walls. The corpses fell with a sick thud, roses blossoming, their voices dying with the most musical of screams.

The very memory made his heart flutter.

The best part? None of them saw it coming.

_Made it all the more fun._

* * *

He stumbled toward the spring on shaking legs, fingerless gloved hands digging into the fresh water as if his very life depended on it. The magnificent glow of the water clouded at his presence, the surface trembling where his fingers did not touch. He disregarded the sting that bit at his flesh as he gulped handfuls of the rough yet honeyed liquid.

Yet he pulled back, aware that the girl was staring at him. The girl -he couldn't really tell with her baggy attire - whom he had first thought to be a boy, had aided him down the dusty path of Kakariko Village to the spring of Eldin. It was utterly painful for him; to not turn on her and slit her delicate throat. Helping him? Dear Goddesses, he felt so pathetic. Then again, he should have rationed his water better. Nevertheless, he kept up the act that he had shown her when she stumbled upon him like he had stumbled toward the water: an innocent and overwhelmed traveler who was far from home and in dire need of nourishment.

The girl looked on, black hair covered in the dust the wind kicked up with a fiery passion. "Are you okay now, mister?" Her speech was deep and slow, irritating him, but he withheld the annoyance with a second's breath of a smile.

_Trick them with innocence_ _,_ his thoughts encouraged, making his smile more evident as he leaned back on his heels. Yes, trick them.

"I'm fine th-thank you," he nodded tiredly, his voice still ragged with dryness and exhaustion. To add to the matter he allowed his smile to falter some, even brushed a hand across his forehead.

She seemed pleased yet worried at the reply. "That's good," she gave a soft nod, black hair bouncing. "Wait here and I'll go fetch father. He's the _medium_ here. He might be able to heal your wounds - if any- and find you a momentary place to stay." The girl smiled hopefully before darting off to the nearest hut, leaving the man with the crimson eyes and dusky hair to wait next to the bubbling spring.

Yet as she disappeared within the hut, he stood and walked toward that very shelter. The thought of eavesdropping gave him an odd thrill, but nothing like the thrill of spilling blood.

"Father! Father!" The blessing of sensitive hearing made him wince as he took a few steps away from the hut's door.

A sharp rustling resounded in response, a groggy voice sounding far from irritated at possibly be awoken. "What is it dear child?" A masculine voice reverberated, a thumping of feet sounding at the last word.

"We've a visitor, father."

"A visitor? Why are you so frantic over a visitor?"

"He-He's different. He looks really scary, but… but he-he needs a place to stay. You said yourself that hospitality is what we're known for, right?"

"Yes, no matter how scary they may seem. You didn't fall to rudeness and question him of his origin, did you?"

"No, of course not!" The voice was growing nearer to the door. At this fact, the red-eyed man retreated back to his seat near the spring just in time.

The hut's door opened and a man sluggishly stumbled out like a sleep deprived fellow as he ran a hand as dusty and dark as the sand beneath their feet through a long braid of tangled hair. Right upon seeing the man, the traveller grew tense. A shaman. This could be tricky. Of course knowing that the tired father was a shaman did not make him tense up, no, it was the way that he was eyed. The shaman gave him a look of momentary horror.

Perhaps it was the appearance to begin with since it seemed that red eyes always did scare those about him. Then again, it could be his stunning resemblance to a certain, pathetic _Hero_. Either way, he found himself smiling sweetly in return and stood up once again.

"Welcome to Kakariko Village," the shaman bowed as his daughter darted up to do the same. "I am Renado, the shaman here," he rose and waved an absent hand behind him to the rest of the village. "May I offer you our hospitality? You look weary from your travels."

The red-eyed man allowed his smile to gain a syrupy length and nodded. "Yes, I am rather fatigued and quite famished. Not only that, but the heat is getting to me. Odd, the fields are not as hot as it is here," he sighed, running a hand across his forehead once more.

"That is because Death Mountain, home of the Gorons, neighbors us," Renado explained, and the man nodded once more, internally rolling his eyes. Yes, of course he knew that. Any imbecile would know that.

_Play dumb. Trick them with innocence._ "Yes, well… about the hospitality you mentioned?" he asked.

Renado shifted uneasily. Though his unsteady gaze from earlier had gone, the man could tell that the shaman was still entirely unsure of him. As he should be. "How long do you intend to stay?"

"A day or two, enough to where I am fully rested and able to continue travelling without any exertion."

"All right then," Renado finally displayed a smile as he turned to his daughter, his long tunic brushing the sand. "Luda, preparations." The little girl at his side nodded darted off into the village without another word. "My daughter will find you a room within the Elde Inn. You may stay as long as you like. Oh, but…" the shaman paused, bowing his head slightly again, "I do not believe I got your name, traveler?"

The man's smile faltered slightly as the voices that resounded in his head giggled manically. It was clear that the shaman did not trust him. It didn't take a blind man to take note to that. Perfect. Oh, but he had been questioned. Name. Names. Titles. A word. "Link."

It took all he had not to giggle, especially when the shaman's eyes narrowed. "L-Link?"

"Yes, is my name a problem?"

"No, of course not mister…"

"Link."

Renado eyed him further, but after a silent moment he turned his gaze up and away. "Yes, quite right… Link," he seemed to detest speaking the name as if it bit at his insides. "My daughter is preparing a room as we speak. Tonight it shall be ready for you, so for now please become acquainted with our village."

Again the shaman bowed, turning once more in his long tunic, and returning to the safe confines of his hut. Of course, if he had stayed a moment longer and glanced at the traveler who deemed himself as 'Link,' then he would have caught sight of that ominous grin that took over his honest smile. If only Renado had listened to his wariness of the man's very name, presence, and appearance. If only he had listened to the whispers that assaulted his conscience right at the traveler's voice. _If only…_

_Far too easy. These fools trust in people too much for peace. Let's destroy it. Help them bathe in their blood._ That wicked leer grew, gaining a dark gravity. Ah, he loved the voices that ran amok within his head. Delightful.

The air tasted foul. Perhaps it was the dust that had taken refuge within his throat or the fact that there was not a drop of blood to be seen. Of course, the thought occurred to him to spill his own, but it would not be the same. No, he needed to find wonderment in spilling another's lifeblood. To see their expression, their crumbling future flash before their eyes, and to watch as they squirmed, screamed, and cried out with their dying breath.

His very addiction was entirely unhealthy. At the very acceptance of that fact, his fingers curled tighter against the hilt of his sword. Yes, he knew… he knew it all too well. The thirst for something so red and so precious was not natural, even for a shadow, but something drew him to it. Perhaps it was the fact that he himself could not bleed, not naturally. No, he would only bleed if the Hero bled. He would only feel pain if the Hero felt pain.

A reflection, nothing but a reflection.

He withdrew from the thoughts, determined to trap them in the back of his mind. Now was not a time to feel pity or a sense of pathetic longing. Shadows could not feel after all, or so the damned Goddesses insisted.

"Enough indulging yourself, _Link_ _,_ " the dark haired man giggled at his own name, finding it foreign when placed against him. As he spoke to himself, he stroked the double-edged blade in such a manner that one would question if the inanimate object was indeed a living, breathing thing in need of affection.

* * *

Within the confines of Elde Inn, Renado and a bulky mass of a creature - Cor Goron of the Gorons - leaned over the bar counter. The Goron's muscles bulged over the flimsy stand, the weight making the very wood creak beneath. Unlike the pasty flesh of man, his skin had the appearance of dirt but looked just as strong and sturdy as any rock. He was quite intimidating, to say the least. Even the smell of burnt wood and sulfur from his body was just as intimidating to the point of making one nauseous.

"Link?" he spoke in a rough, grinding accent to the point where the slur of the vowel made the spoken word sound like ' _Lounk.'_ "Well, the strange brother does look like the Hero, indeed, but he varies in color. Especially in the eyes."

Renado nodded and took a seat on a barstool across from the creature that towered over him to the point where the shaman had to crane his neck to meet the gentle eyes of his Goron friend.

"Yes, I agree with you there, my friend. The presence he holds is somewhat…" he trailed, a hand running under his chin. What was the word to best describe the newcomer's aura? Sinister, dark, foreboding… "Either way, I didn't question him about the reasoning behind his name. I'm sure many children have been named after Hyrule's Hero, but the resemblance is almost frightening."

"But you do not wish to judge the weary man?"

"No, it would be wrong of me to judge him when I know nothing about him."

As the Goron shifted in his seat the counter groaned in protest. "What of Eldin, have you heard from him when the traveler came about?"

Eldin was the guardian of the spring within Kakariko Village. It was the light of the province that both Kakariko Village and Death Mountain inhabited. It wasn't common, but on occasion Renado would hear whispers from the light spirit. It was his task as the village's shaman to hear and reiterate the words of Eldin and his siblings, the other three light spirits that guarded the other regions of Hyrule. At the mention of the light spirit, Renado shook his head reluctantly. "No, I've just felt premonitions ever since I said 'good day' to him."

"What if he's not from Hyrule?"

"That's possible, but the mountains that surround Hyrule are far too tall and far too steep for such a journey."

"But if this traveler is like the Hero then it would be a simple task."

"It's possible, but I doubt it."

"Maybe it's just a coincidence then. Stop worrying if Eldin spoke nothing of it. Now come, let us return to our previous talk about the matters of a feast between our people," Cor Goron grinned.

* * *

Link found comfort wallowing in the worn sheets that reeked of dust and earth. His eyes resembled hollow pits in the candlelight as he peered into the shadows of the room. Elde Inn's rooms were quite small and his was no exception. It held enough room for a bed, but the lack of space did not unsettle him. Small, dark places were something he found comfort in, as was his blade that rested at his side.

It was rather difficult to hide his sinister thoughts and revealing his hand for all to see. No, he had to wait for the perfect time. Spilling blood haphazardly wasn't nearly as thrilling. It didn't bring that dark glow to his eyes, the glint in his blade, or the smile on his lips.

Link idly glanced down at the bright mirror edge of his blade, pleased in his reflection. There was something about the gleam of his wicked blade that seemed to bring out the most beautiful angles of his face. In fact, no other reflective surface did his features justice and he often spent hours looking into his sword for that sickening satisfaction. His enjoyment was interrupted prematurely when a hesitant knock on the door tore his eyes away.

The inverted man rose into a sitting position, his shirt sliding down his thin shoulders. He stared at the door and hoped ignoring the nuisance would encourage it to go away, but against his wishes, the visitor opened the door and stepped in. The girl from before hesitantly made her way into the room, her face sporting a boyish grin. She nervous as she played with her hands before stating her business.

"You've been cooped up in here all day. Is there anything else I can do for you?" Luda questioned as she brushed a wary hand through her hair. Link mentally groaned, but instead of voicing his thoughts - a couple of which included slitting her throat and gouging out her eyes - he smiled.

He watched as the girl cringed at the smile he used when parting flesh from skin. He could practically see her comparing him to his _other_ half, as most did when he expressed his emotions. None of them ever wanting to acknowledge the similarities in the two men.

Luda cringed; the candlelight was not doing the traveler's smile any favors. Then again… perhaps she'd simply misjudged his sharp smile in the candlelight. She had to admit it was hard to reconcile the smile of the man before her with the Legend who shared the same name in the twisting shadows. "Sir is there - "

"I heard you the first time, child," Link smiled, his tone teetering away bit by bit. "And no, I'm afraid not, but thank you. I think I'll just rest." He had meant to wave her off then like one would a servant, but instead he drew himself away from the comfort of the bed. "What time is it, _dear child_?" It was difficult keeping the mirth away from his voice, his senses yearning for blood for Goddess knows how long.

The girl was perplexed. Of all the things for the blood-eyed man to inquire, he wondered over time itself? Luda shrugged off the confusion, glancing slightly over her shoulder to peer out a window from across the inn's hall . The hour was indeed late. Returning her reluctant gaze to the man, "Why, sir, it's past sunset."

_Clearly._ Link had gathered that much already having absentmindedly counted the seconds, the minutes, and each seemingly endless _hour_ since he had settled into his temporary room. "Is it midnight?"

Again, she glanced over her shoulder. "It appears so but I cannot tell… " Luda said, raising a curious brow.

He could tell she wanted to question him, that much was clear, but thankfully she kept her questions to herself. WIth a brisk bow of her head, she murmured a parting "good night," and left just as abruptly as she appeared.

At her absence, yet another smile split Link's face, growing tenfold to that of a madman's sneer. He'd almost lost it at the very idea of it being midnight. It would be the perfect time to wreak havoc, and this time he would gain attention from the Goddesses.

The sick pleasure of listening to another's screams motivated him out of the bed as if the very sheets burned him. As soon as his bare feet brushed the dusty floor, he dove for his obsidian blade. His movements were slow and measured as he picked up the sword delicately, cradling it within his arms as he all but beamed back at his reflection.

"It's almost time," his breath fogged against the cool steel, "to see the flesh part under your lovely edge..."

_Simply wonderful. Deli-_

His eyes snapped to the door as a sudden sound disturbed his thoughts. Shattering glass… no, not entirely, but something just as fragile. The very sound of it made him cringe. Whoever that made such a dreadful sound would surely be the _first_ to bleed.

Link stalked out the door, annoyance coating his stride. The hall's dim light did little to hide the wicked curl of his smile. He turned the corner, following the low mutter of someone's voice as another shatter of _something_ and - Goddess be damned - it unnerved him. With silent haste - as much as one could on the old, squeaking wood - he descended the stairs, turning just in time to watch a plate fall from a cabinet behind inn's bar.

The one to create such a disgusting noise, an Elde Inn maid, moved in such a way that it brought out her fragile age. She groaned as her back stiffened at the slightest gesture of bending down to pick up the shattered pieces of plates that had fallen from the cupboard overhead.

"Watch y'self, ole girl," she tsked, coming back up with a series of pops resounding from her spine. "Don't want' go at breaking the last good lookin' plate."

Her drawl reminded Link of a cat rubbed against a cactus; elongating the vowels and cutting the words short in such a manner that it irritated him to no end, making his fingers curl even tighter about the blade at his hip. He waited until she picked up every last plate with the speed of a snail; her old bones creaking with each bend.

Link rested against the banister, eying the elderly maid across the bar counter with a look that spoke of pure malice. Consideration was something foreign to him; his conscience having died a long time ago with his innocence. Already he scanned the room, his mind flicking through a series of thoughts illustrating the woman's demise. There were so many ways to kill a soul, so many ways... yet he could only end them once. It was sad, really.

_Enough, it should be simple. Just slaughter her, paint the floors in_ _her_ _blood and be done with it. Even if she wakes the whole village, it will do them no good._

He'd been so enraptured in the very idea, he hadn't realized that the old woman had stopped cleaning up. Without his notice, she had somehow crossed the expanse of the room.

"Sorry, Sir," she drawled wearily with a bow. The very gesture made the wooden headpiece that held her hair in an unceremonious bun wobble precariously."Did I wake y'eh?"

The man eyed her for a moment, knowing that his twisted smile was still visible. Was she too blind to see it or perhaps too stupid? Then again, perhaps she saw his twisted smile as something kind? He glanced about them, the only source of light being the candle at the bar. Ah, perhaps she couldn't see his features entirely.

_Wonderful._

He forced a kindhearted laugh and winced, its effect somewhat diminished. "Oh, not at all. In all honesty, I couldn't really sleep and… well…"

The maid nodded, laughing in return. "I'm sorry t' hear tha'. I wish I could help y'eh." She turned her back to him, inviting him to introduce her to his blade. As the thought tickled his fancy, she moved behind bar.

"Do you need any help?" Link questioned. He walked across the room to the maid's vicinity, fingers curling even tighter about the hilt.

She didn't look at him, didn't catch the lilt in his voice. "I've been doin' the dishes since noon. Puttin' them up is a hassle." She said. She got on her tiptoes to place a trembling stack of plates back into a dusty cabinet.

He went around the counters and helped her. In truth, he didn't want to hear the shattering again. "Are you the only servant here?" He inquired, giving the maid room right as she turned to shake his hand out of thanks.

Her hand hovered, but when he showed no notion to take her palm, she let up and straightened her posture. At his closeness, she could see the unhealthiness lingering on his skin, and the red in his eyes was almost horrific. Was he sick? Most likely, but she wouldn't dare embarrass the him by asking. "No, the other maids are young and always whine tha' the night duties are far t' difficult. I usually end up doin' all the nightly chores m'self." She answered.

"You're alone then?" Link raised his head slightly, fingers once again curled on the hilt.

"Yes, why? Do y' need somethin', Sir?"

An innocent step forward, "No, not really," another step, "Well, there is something."

With each progressive step, the maid backed up until her back pressed against the counters. "W-What may that be?" She's caught onto something, something entirely off, unnatural. She hadn't noticed it before, the way the candle light made him look like death itself or the way his insistent smile curled maliciously.

He brought the blade to her throat, eyes narrowed, "I want to know what kind of screams you'll make when I slit your throat." His voice filled with such innocence, such curiosity that the woman shuddered.

The sword came down and she screamed. Hands clawed at Link's arms as the blade sliced through flesh. It dug past the collarbone and found a spot to claim as home. The point drove through the ribcage. Cold steel froze everything it touched as it plowed through, and the edge gouged the heart. Her screams, sharp and grave, died with a gurgle and a squelch of her skewered organ. The blood ran, hot and fresh, and stained everything: the floor, the maid's uniform, his clothes, and the blade itself.


	2. Bloodstains

**Chapter 02 – Bloodstains**

* * *

 

Music Suggestion: Fatal Lullaby by Adrian Von Zielger

" _Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."_

― Terry Pratchett, _Reaper Man_

* * *

The shaman, Renado, heard it first. It was a scream that could make a Goron cringe, make fresh blood turn cold. He did not just hear it, no… he _felt_ it. It felt like a cold, depressive darkness and it smothered every bit of hope that he held, and at that moment the light spirit, Eldin, spoke. The spirit whispered manically, screamed its heart out within his own mind.

" _The Darkness, the darkness, oh the darkness! Run for thy soul for once it sets its sight, there is nothing…_ nothing _to stop it. Encroaching, noisome darkness. It will end everyone and every_ thing _. Paint the dirt with blood. Not even_ light… _not even_ light…"

The spirit's mad speech didn't make him any less afraid as he searched the village pathways for his daughter, knowing that she, as well as the rest of the villagers, had heard it. Yet as he pushed his way through the forming masses toward Elde Inn in a desperate search, did the doors of that very inn open.

The silence was deafening as all frantic eyes focused on the figure as it stalked out of the inn with the stride of a cat. Ruby eyes glowed as Link, with blood coated on his features, laughed ominously. In his hand he held a blade and in the other, a head. To the crowd, the first victim was a wonder. Who was it? They couldn't tell. It was hard to even recognize a feature on the head with the endless amount of gore that dripped from the neck.

"How dare you!" a Goron roared against the tragic silence, its voice made the ground beneath it shake. The denizens around it shuddered at the sudden interruption as it stalked toward the inn's ramp. With another roar it charged, rock arms flexed out before it, as it set to ram Link down with a simple blow.

He swung his beloved sword, its very touch brought a swarm of sparks as it grazed the skin of the Goron and then found a place to settle. Red blood appeared, at first too small to catch, but then it came as a waterfall. Then the wail of a Goron came. It was a cry that was rare to the ears. It was something sorrowful, soul wrenching, and _scary_. Something unnatural and bitterly sweet should not be reverberated by a man of rock, yet it came like the wind to echo against the dusty huts of Kakariko.

At the cry of the Goron, the denizens of Kakariko scattered like cockroaches in light. They ran, screaming and crying. They left those that stumbled to fall by Link's blade. Surely, if the cry of a Goron had not been heard then they would have stayed, insisted on seizing the murderer… something _courageous_.

Link walked steadily from the rampart, raised his blade with a flick of the wrist. Just as before, the blade settled in and tore. It cut through the rock as if the tough flesh was tissue paper. He moved like a ghost, wandered without any true desire or destination. Wherever a Kakariko fled to, he followed nonchalantly, his face taking on an expression of a disinterested child. The finesse of the blade made it appear as if he had done it a thousand times over, but with each swing, his thoughts muddled with bliss as his twisted conscience withered further.

Of course he found some humanity still bubbled inside, though weak, and it bothered him to the point that he paused at the moment where his blade rose to cut through a mother and child.

_They did nothing. They are simple-minded. They are innocent. You are in the wrong. You should-_

**S** _**hhhh** _ **lick**

He drew the blade back, eyes looked over the blood that spilled from the child. If his thoughts were not so focused on what was happening around him, then he would have laughed at the petite voice that tried desperately to grab his attention. It had the _gall_ to make him feel guilty, of all things!

_They are selfish. They judge. They're disgusting. They are dirty. They are just as dark as I._

* * *

The shaman's daughter, Luda, ran with desperation, having escaped the black blade twice already. Her clothes were splattered with blood; her face burned from the hot substance. One of her best friends, who she'd followed closely behind, had been cut down right in front of her. It had happened so quickly yet time seemed to slow, and in that instance she'd seen the traveler turn, caught the look in his eyes as he recognized her, and saw his sword shift.

She'd slipped in the blood, stumbled over her friend's body, and had kept running. The guilt was suffocating. However, her mind bargained with her, reassured her that her friend's wound had been fatal. There had been nothing left to do except to _run._

Luda slipped again but this time over soft dirt in the village's cemetery. The feeling was relief at first. Her ancestors, Eldin even, would surely protect her. However, when she heard the dying screams of her friends, her relief deteriorated.

The cemetery was as silent as ever, cold and eerie as she raced amidst weathered headstones. There was no help waiting for her here. Fear brought her to take refuge behind a forgotten headstone that stood far off to the side of the cemetery. Her fingers curled into the dry earth as her gaze wandered. Maybe if she prayed hard enough then Eldin would save her, would shroud her in light and protect her. The idea was much better than allowing herself to drown in fear. Perhaps… her heart stopped, ached terribly in her chest as if someone had impaled her, and she grasped at her chest with a tight fist. A single scream erupted and ascended over the chaos, and the scream itself drew her into a slobbering mess. Even if she had never heard it in her life, she knew.

_Father._

* * *

Sword brushed against stone, the contact brought forth a shower of sparks, and the blade indulged itself in the crook of the Goron's neck. The man of rock reverberated with the sound of thunder as its fingers laced around the blade. Yet the sword was too quick for the Goron as it dug deeper and deeper, its dangerous edge caressing the collarbone. The Goron fell to the dusty ground, the earth shaking in response, and withdrew its fingers from the sharp edges only to wrap them around Link's ankle. When Link pulled the blade out and elicited a ground hiss from the Goron, his vigorous gaze searched for his next victim. A sudden amount of pressure against his ankle forced his attention back to the Goron and with a snarl and a flick of the wrist, the sword sliced at the man's throat.

The sharp edges tore through the Goron's rocky flesh and split the jugular vein. With every death, Link would pause to watch the gore and the last moments of his victims. It was something that he found fascinating, to watch life wither away into death. However, he didn't stay to watch the color in the Goron's eyes flicker like a candle and then evaporate into a cloud of black, but he did watch a familiar shaman run past him and the gore that oozed out of the Goron.

At the sight of the man, Renado, Link tightened his hold on the hilt. He _judged._ The words resonated with malice, repeated over and over in his mind until they became a mantra. The way that the shaman had spoken his name, the way he had looked at him, and the way he had _judged_ encouraged Link's instability.

_He will_ die _._

Renado didn't see it coming. He was far too focused in searching for his daughter. Dear Eldin, he was frantic. He paced, unsure of where to look for her, but he knew that if he stayed in one place then he would be slain just as the others. Yet he was so fueled with worry that his thoughts never truly came. No, all he could think was of Luda's safety. He had promised her mother. He had promised…

" _I won't be there to see her grow up Renado." Her voice was weak and tired as her hand clung limply to his own, the soft and warm skin felt rough and cold to the touch._

He called her name again, hopelessness made his voice crack.

" _I won't be there to help her." She coughed and struggled for words._

A bone-chilling cold crowded around him as he continued his search. It seeped into his body and made his skin crawl with premonitions; nevertheless, he persisted and ignored the descending atmosphere that pressed at his back. He had promised.

" _Promise me that you will always be there for her. No matter what. Promise me that you will-"_

The point of a blade jabbed at his back, scraped at his spine before it impaled him between his left shoulder blade and spine. Its movement was slow at first, gentle, or maybe that was just time itself slowing down right at death. The pain didn't hit until he heard the blood-curdling laughter, felt the hot breath against his flesh.

" _Always protect her."_

"Good night," a voice whispered by his ear as the blade was harshly withdrawn. At its withdrawal he felt the pain, the void. It was something dreadful, something missing.

_He tightened his hold on her hand in clear desperation. "Don't say that, please. You will make it. I will make sure of that. Eldin will surely listen to me this time."_

His hands brushed over his robe until his fingers met the gaping wound left in his chest. For a moment, he stood in absolute shock, but when the blood soaked into his clothes and formed a puddle at his feet, he fell forward. As he fell, he turned his head just enough to catch sight of his killer. Red eyes and a wicked smile met him and filled him with regret. He should have followed his gut feeling.

Link watched the shaman for a moment, even sat beside him to see how fleeting life would be for him. Yet boredom drew Link back on his feet. His interest wavered. Didn't the shaman have a daughter? He scanned the destruction and pandemonium he had caused and he smiled inwardly, but he didn't catch the girl. Nonetheless, his gaze paused on a path that wrapped around the shaman's hut and up a steep hill that he had not taken yet.

The path would lead to the only place that Renado had not looked for…

The only place…

_He held the infant in his arms, a smile on his lips even after having dealt with such a tragedy. "I will call you…" he paused and tickled the infant's chin as it played with his braids, "Luda, after your mother."_

_Luda._

* * *

Luda peeked over the headstone with bated breath only to duck her head back down at the sight of her friends' and father's murderer. Even from here she could spot those red eyes. They glowed brighter than the moon. Her heart hammered against her chest as she pressed herself closer to the headstone. She tried to make herself smaller and pulled her legs tightly against her, but nothing happened and the minutes ticked by. Despite her fear, she glanced around the stone and saw an empty cemetery. Relief washed over her for a second time, but when she turned, she was met with darkness.

Luda looked up, breath caught in her throat. The moon's light had died away, dulled by a shadow accented with crimson. The stench of gore was suffocating but manageable, but the look in those eyes ripped her stomach asunder. Link looked down on her like she was prey.

He crouched down until he was eye level, and she flinched back as his eyes met hers evenly. "You're the last." He smiled and leaned forward as he stabbed his sword into the earth beside her.

* * *

On the third day, Kakariko's death was discovered by a passing merchant. The blood was so much to where it tainted and overflowed Eldin's spring. Corpses were strewn about like trash, slammed against walls or rock, and there were a few that were too cut up to be recognizable. The scene was so grotesque and tragic that it reached Hyrule's Castletown in a heartbeat.

**Kakariko Massacre!**

**Date 22-342-1111**

**Kakariko village is closed off to the public due to a tragic event. On the 341** **st** **the village was found covered in blood and corpses.**

" **I couldn't believe it," said soldier Bransen of the 22** **nd** **Royal Hyrule Armada, "when I was called in to clean up a 'mess,' I had no idea that it was something like this. I've never seen so much death. I'll never be able to get the scene out of my head."**

**Currently, no survivors have been found and there has been no evidence as to the identity of the murderer. Current death count is unknown. The list of the dead will be provided next week. A mass funeral has yet to be set.**

* * *

She read it over and over, the devastating news that had made its home in the hearts of her people. It was unnerving, painful. She felt that it was her fault even though she had known nothing of it. She was tightened her fingers on the parchment remorsefully. Brown eyes trembled, turned glassy from tears that threatened to fall. Already her cheeks were puffy, and amber strands of hair plastered to her warmed cheeks.

_Stay strong. Stay strong. Stay strong._ She took a deep breath, dropped the bringer-of-bad-news and brushed hastily at her long braids and cheeks. She blinked away the tears and stood abruptly from her writing desk.

"Milady," she flinched, unaware that one of the servants had slipped into her chamber unannounced. Yet as she turned, white gown twirled at her knees, ready to scold the servant did she stop in mid-turn.

"Link," her eyes widened at the speaker.

The boy, no, the man smiled, "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I wanted to surprise you. Is now a bad time? You look distraught... is your father fairing well?" Link tilted his head and his deep, blue eyes filled with concern.

She took a moment to reply, the emotions that the news had triggered hadn't settled down. Instead, she let her eyes roam. He was in casual clothes rather than his soldier armor and it reminded her of how he had declined the offer to stay in the castle so many years ago. She wanted to tell him that the clothes made him look younger, but withdrew as that wasn't entirely true. No, he was more muscular and tanned. His face was filled out more and his voice was deeper, stronger.

"Zel?"

He seemed ignorant about the massacre otherwise he would have acted quiet, angry, uncomfortable. He would have said how he should have done something about it because he was Hyrule's chosen Hero. He'd said it before when something terrible had happened within Hyrule. Of course, since he lived in the secluded outskirts of Faron, it was likely that he wouldn't hear of such tragic news.

"It's nothing. Just feeling a little stressed from my duties as of late. Nothing new," Zelda smiled with finality, and gave him a look that told him to not press the issue, "Now, what brings you here?"

"Even though I'm no longer affiliated with Ordon, I promised Rusl that I'd continue the job of giving the Royal Family Ordon's blessing." As he spoke, he turned to his side and withdrew a sheath embezzled with faux jewels. The sheath itself was impressive with its intricate detail of thread that retold the story of the Triforce and the Hero, but the blade would surely outshine it. Each blade, every year, was more amazing to look at than the one before it. It shimmered even in darkness and sung beautifully when it cut wind.

"How nice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " I like it when the red water runs " - Salad Fingers
> 
> So, what'cha thinkin'? Besides the mentioning of blood and death (I did warn you).


	3. Trust

**Chapter 03 - Trust**

* * *

 

Music Suggestion: Forsaken by Sharm

_ “This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. . .” _

_ ―  _ J.D. Salinger, _ The Catcher in the Rye _

* * *

 

 

_ How many days had it been since he had seen the sun? How many days had it been since he had seen another living being? The questions bombarded him, made his skin crawl with sick realization. He hadn’t seen the sun in  _ months _ and as for a living being… nothing but the shadows. It had bothered him, but the silence and the loneliness had long since been a hindrance.  _

_ At first, he had feared the emptiness that the spacious chamber offered, but now he saw it as something natural. To him, the shadows meant safety even if the depths of the shadows gnawed at his sanity.  _ _ Nevertheless, ever since his first day in the darkness, he did not scream. He did not claw at the walls, throw himself against the walls like a caged animal, and he did not cry. Instead he waited for what felt like eternity for something, anything to rouse him from the solitude. Yet here he was, accustomed to a void, imprisoned, starved, and at the mercy of his captor—creator. It would be up to that vile being’s decision on if his sanity would be allowed to wander again. _

_ Of course, he didn’t expect it so soon, _ _ the interruption of his darkness that he’d grown accustomed too _ _. He had heard the footfalls many times before, but the heavy lock and the sudden crack of light—something like boiling, hot fire to his eyes—caught him by surprise. It was horrifying and it drew him to scramble back into the shadows, the light burning his skin. _

_ “Get the boy, master will want to see how his mind has progressed,” a shrill voice  _ _ broke the silence, resounding _ _ like a drum that wreaked havoc on his pointed ears.  _ _ A scaley hand coiled around his arm and pulled him upward, the force almost dislocated his shoulder from its socket, _ _ “If not then perhaps we will have some fun.”  _ _ Noisome laughter flooded the chamber and for once, he found that he favored the darkness and its solitude. _

* * *

 

__ The dark man, Link, stood up with such ferocity that he startled the frogs that sang around him in the cavern.  As he rose from the waters, crimson eyes alight, did his expression fall to utter disgust. The change from something of comfort to repulsion wasn’t from the blood that still soaked his clothes, but more from the dreams that had dirtied his conscience. They were a nuisance. Not because the child in the dream was weak and defenseless, not because he felt sorry for the child, but because it happened and as it happened no one had given a damn. No one had paid attention.

           Yet as he mulled over the dreams and mentally raged at the lonesome boy’s predicament, the glassy pond that surrounded him began to ripple. The disturbances in the pond moved as gently as the wind and brought on a kaleidoscope of colors to envelope the waters. He blinked in confusion as he watched the swirl of colors come alive with each ripple that passed him. They spiraled and grew in intensity before they reached the center of the pond. When all splashes of color met, a burst of light shot from the waters. It was something golden and true, a painful sight to his dark eyes as he turned halfheartedly away from its brilliance to peer at the path that had led him down to the cavern.

_ “You are weary, traveler. Let me heal your wounds.” _ Link stifled a laugh at the  melodical voice  that reverberated from the pillar of ligh t.  It had confused the blood on his clothes with his own.  Without a pause and  without his willingness ,  a tickle and pull covered his flesh - magic. 

He squinted at the golden pillar. Partially enveloped in the brilliance, he spotted a swarm of small fairies that idly danced around the light. Thank Din it wasn’t the Great Fairy,  _ she _ could read a man’s aura and  stop his heart with a glance, but the smaller, lesser Fountain Fairies could not. They healed anyone that came to them, no matter the mindset o r heart of the traveller .

           Link hadn’t ventured down into the depths of the fountain for relief of his exhaustion. He had merely sought shelter from the outside world. After the discovery of a decimated Kakariko, three days ago, Link had been in search of solitude and a place to clean his clothes of the evidence. Of course, now that solitude was disturbed.

_ “There, traveler, now you may rest in peace.” _

__ His brow twitched, turned fully to glare at the light that continued to float and pulse in intensity. “Yes, yes, thank you,” he flinched at his voice, listened to it echo against the cavern walls.

_“Are you in need of assistance, repairs, or something of the sort to help you along your journey?”_

“No.”

_“Are you sure traveler, it will—“_

“No.”

_“What abo…”_

           His red eyes twitched again with frustration as h is hand circled the hilt of his sword . With a heavy step, he made his way to the center of the pond, the light not straying even as he lifted his sword. “Shut up,” he barked as his begrimed blade cut through the mass of light. Instantly, the light died and along with it came  a chorus of wretched whispers  that made the cavern it tremble , but the light didn’t go away  entirely as the voices writhed. Instead, l ike a candle, its center, where the blade touched the light, caught on fire.  The fire engulfed the magnificent light, its flames drowned out the cries of the burnt fairies, and then it burned away all at once. It left nothing but trembled waves in its wake.

If only the Fountain Fairies could have read his aura, his heart. If not that, perhaps noticed how his sword seemed to hold a heavy atmosphere about it  or how his blackened tunic dripped with blood that was not his own . Maybe then they would have noticed how those red eyes drowned in darkness.

Pale fingers tangled into the stained tunic of black as he pulled it harshly over his head, red eyes glared with such hatred that one would think the man was angry at the tunic itself. Yet as he continued to let the blood taint the Fairy Fountain, he found himself growing tired. Of course, it wasn’t just that that made Link scowl in such a childish manner, it was the emotion that welled up within him.

_ It wasn’t his. _

__ It was a rarity, where a piece of his old self would  _ bleed  _ through at the most wondrous of moments. It was usually guilt that poked its selfish way through—something that had been his long ago but no longer. Guilt, he hadn’t felt that since… since…

           He muttered something incoherently as he dropped the tunic into the shallow depths of the fountain. Truth be told, Link had believed he’d buried that side of him. Guilt was something he could not deal with, not now and not ever. It brought him down, tore him apart, and made his very being drown in agony. It was living hell for him, to feel regret.

          His fingers scrubbed at the wet material and the waters gradually turned red, “why should I,” he spat,  “when they judged me just like the rest.” In the past, Villagers  _ had _ judged him. Yes, the shaman had spoken his name in an odd manner and had even looked him over with suspicion, but there had been no judgment. The whole response to his form was caution as well as curiosity. A traveler who resembled the Hero… an oddity, one that deserved suspicion. Kakariko Village was a little child compared to the first village he had stumbled upon…

           Link closed his eyes and shook his head. Memories were a burden.

* * *

 

_ It had been a simple promise, one that the frail child was all the more eager to follow.  _ “Do me a favor and I will let you out of the darkness.” _ It gave him hope. Without question, he’d followed his master’s minions with desperation. _

_            The destination was unknown, the favor behind those words was unknown, but the child simply followed and trusted. He hoped the task would be easy, having been so tired and  _ _ having yet to recover _ _ from a punishment when things had  _ not gone correctly as planned _. Even then, he felt weakness eat away at his being as he struggled to keep up with his master’s scaly underlings. Unlike him, they looked properly fed, healthy, and unharmed. _

_            Without warning, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder, hard. He gave a pained hiss at the feel of cold fingers piercing his collarbone. One of the minions, a green goblin  _ _ with hollow pits for eyes leered down at him _ _ , “Now listen here and listen well, brat. Master is trying to be generous to you so I suggest you do as he ordered of you,”  _ _ its voice resonated like a pile of rattled bones and  _ _ with its other, free hand it gestured to the path before them. Far ahead a cluster of lights—fire—came to view, structures could be faintly seen from underneath the moon’s caring glow, and if he listened closely… voices of civilization could be heard. A village. It looked small, even at a distance. _

_            “W-What am I—” _

_            “We didn’t ask you to speak,” the second minion, a hog-like man creature growled. In turn, the child flinched, eyes fell away from the speck of society. _

_ “Master wants you to purge the village.” _

_            Purge? He nearly threw up. The child didn’t have to guess, the tone and the expression that the two wore  _ _ gave enough definition of the word for him _ _. Purge meant something diabolical, unforgivable. _

_            “Every single one. If you don’t, you’ll be kept in the darkness forever and may even receive more  fun, little beatings. If you fail, same thing. If one escapes, same deal.” _

_            It was sickening how the child froze at the very mention of the darkness. The dark chamber that he had been stuck in for Goddess knows how long. He barely even heard the rest of the threat, the order. Even when they released him, led him to the village entrance, and left him with nothing but his fear and a tulwar blade did the threat still ring loud and clear. If he didn’t “purge” then he’d be left in the darkness. If he didn’t “purge” then he’d receive those painful punishments. If he didn’t “purge” then he’d… dear Din.  _ _ Even if he had only gotten to look at the sun before it settled for the day, even if his freedom was momentary… he didn’t want to go back. He’d forgotten what freedom, though limited, had felt like. _

_            The very words had set him on a frenzy and maybe even in a trance as he walked down the village path and gathered attention. The first being a woman bearing a child. She was worried, questioned him of his origin, health, parents, destination. He was too wrapped up in his own frightened thoughts. _

_Darkness._

_“Child?”_

_Darkness._

_“Child, are you alright,” she reached out, past her budding stomach._

_Darkness._

_            Her hand circled around his shoulder. She had meant to stop him and console him because he appeared lost and frightened, but his reaction was not what she had expected. _

_            The child turned, lashed out with the curved blade that he h _ _ ad held tightly against his chest _ _. It was sudden and unexpected for him too as he cried out when he dug the blade in the woman’s stomach. Her blood… his first blood. _

_            She staggered back, the tulwar being ripped away from her belly, and collapsed from panic. Right then, chaos took form. The villagers heard the cry and ran to see what  _ _ had brought forth such a painful sound _ _ only to find the child and a bleeding, pregnant woman. Angered and surprised, they confronted the child, but the child ran. However, the threat rang loud in his ears. The threat was overpowering, reached high over the villagers’ demands to execute the defenseless woman’s assailant. _

_            He fought back. Desperation at its finest. The blade cut through, faster and deeper, but it was not effective. Blood poured like a river, his skin stained with wounds, but he kept on. He swung blindly and cried each time when the sword met with flesh. Each time someone fell or staggered back from a wound that he had managed to deal, that one, dreadful word repeated itself over and over: darkness. _

_ The fear drove him to ignore the opposing blades that grazed and punctured his body. Pain was a phantom, his mind did not register the blood that spilled from his gut, his back, or his arms. Even when a pitchfork ate its way into his back, even when a torch burned his white skin black, and even when a sword lunged into his chest, he felt nothing but fear of the solitude, of the silence. _

_            Yet, no matter how hard he yelled, how hard he swung, or how hard he had tried… h _ _ e failed. Blood loss had anchored him down to reality and the urge to live drove him to run.  _ _ He was thrown back into the cold chamber, into the heavy darkness. Only then as he found a corner to cry in, his senses drowned in agony and smell of blood that had made its home on his body, did he come to the sick realization… _

_            There was no such thing as trust, freedom. _

_            Trust and freedom had died a long time ago. _

_            Not just that, hope had died along with them. On that night, sanity did as well.  _ _ As his mind battled with his conscience, t _ _ he child felt no guilt, no remorse, no regret, no sadness. Nothing. He was devoid as his crimson eyes stared into the blinding dark. He no longer reached out in exploration, hoping beyond hope that he was not alone. He no longer called for someone to save him, no longer prayed, and no longer thought. The child did nothing. _

_            The child did nothing because on that night, he died. _

* * *

 

           It was a habit, to visit Telma’s bar. Nowadays it was the only reason for Link to travel to Castletown  on his free time  despite getting to meet the princess. It was especially a habit to drink, but no matter how much he drank… nothing. It was as if the Goddesses had created their Chosen Hero to be derived from absolute perfection to the point where he couldn’t get drunk. Not that he wanted to, but he wanted to try it. Colin, Malo, and Talo did whenever he brought them along and they seemed to actually have fun as well as share an escape from everything.

           For Link it was more of an escape from those that idolized him. Even in his own village,  despite the recent deaths they had suffered,  the people  had been all over him… he couldn’t get a moment of alone time  even with the fellow soldiers he shared the battlefield with . They either wanted a favor from him, wanted him to show off his skills, or question him about his journey. Truth be told, it  had gotten  on his last nerve. However, he didn’t mind when he was called to the castle itself. Zelda made things better. She did none of those things. She didn’t even question him about his  _ lost _ friend, Midna.

           At the very thought of her he took another sip of the Din awful drink. He blinked  hard against the thick liquid that burned its way down his throat . For a while now, all he could think about was of the twilit imp. She had been with him through thick and thin during the Twilight War.

          Twilight War, he laughed at the very name of it. The Hylians acted like they had taken part in it when they chattered about it on occasion in the bar, but in reality only Link had taken part. Despite this fact they had the gall to name it something that gave someone the impression that there had been more than one involved.

           Now all of that didn’t  _ really _ bother him. No, it was the fact that… the fact that…

           He twirled the remaining liquid in the cup, eyes lifted slightly to gaze at bar owner, Telma, who was already flirting away with another customer. She leaned against the corner, breasts propped up against it so that her low-cut shirt showed off the smooth, brown skin and curvature of her chest. The Hylian that sat in front of her blushed, gaze averted as they took a long swig of their drink. He sighed. What was the fact? He really didn’t know. This feeling… it was almost like a black hole, a void ripping him apart from the inside out…

           Depression was never his thing. Perhaps it was the loss of Midna. Perhaps it was something els—

           “Link!” He sat up in his chair, eyes widened at the sudden voice by his pointed ear; however, the surprise died off quickly, replaced by utter annoyance. Nevertheless, the Hero managed to hide it with a half-smile. He turned his head to meet the bright, youthful eyes of Colin. Colin’s honeyed locks were in a frenzy, misplaced by the wind, and he looked entirely out of breath as his face shone with sweat. His shirt buttons were wrongfully aligned and the neck line was shifted to one side of his shoulders, as if he had hurried in getting dressed. “Look-look at-at this,” his childhood friend  and fellow brother-in-arms spoke briskly, breath heavy as he leaned against the counter, “Look!” At his order, he shoved a parchment across the countertop and right in front of the Hero’s drink.

           “Is this another one of those sexu—“

           “Just read it!”

           Link gave a roll of his eyes. It was clear that he was reluctant to do so as he withdrew his attention from his drink and down to the parchment. His movement and interest were slow, but as his sapphire eyes wandered over the first line - “ _ Kakariko Massacre! _ ” - he lost his attitude. Kakariko Massacre? His fingers curled into the paper, his smile  having aggressively  shriveled down into a thin line. Zelda had lied. She’d known of the event and had kept it away from him. To go as far as to hide something like this, something so frightening…


	4. Lying Low

**Chapter 04 – Lying Low**

* * *

 

Music Suggestion: Forsaken by Sharm

_ “This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. . .” _

_ ―  _ J.D. Salinger, _ The Catcher in the Rye _

* * *

 

_ There had been a time when he had felt peace, innocence, and sanity, but such a time was long gone now. That had been an entirely different dimension, different person… or so it felt like. Now, he was  _ _ an empty shell _ _ plagued by constant darkness. The darkness had already consumed his sanity, little by little as he sat in the cold, damp corner of the endless chamber, and it was consuming his time and whatever else was left. Of course, he clung to himself for dear life, not desiring to fall any further, but after two years… losing himself became inevitable. _

_            Through those two, wretched years he began to find a sick happiness in blood. Why? It was an escape. It was the only chance he could get to escape from the darkness. Whether it was from a punishment, a “lesson,” or an order of killing by the master… blood was a symbol of a paradise that the ill child had lost long ago. _

_            Solitude was something he treasured too. Darkness was slowly becoming something else, perhaps being placed as a “friend.” After all, the boy was continuously alone. He was friendless. _

_            It took two years for the boy to become a monster when it had taken only two months for the boy to become nothing. _

* * *

_           The child hissed venomously as he was thrown back, his head cracked against the stone wall. “You will do as I say,” came the thundering voice of his master. At the very tone the child cringed, hands immediately flying out to lash at the man that advanced toward him. “Calm down or there will be more than just a simple blow to the head.” Earth colored arms reached out, grabbed the child’s hands with a firm grip. _

_            Unwillingly, the child cringed again. The hold on his wrists was strong, perhaps too strong. He squirmed, flailed, kicked, but dared not scream.  _ Shadows were not supposed to speak _ , or so his master said. _

_            His master pushed forward, spinning the boy till his chest was pressed against the wall with his arms held tightly over his head, “Now, you will journey—” _

* * *

 

__ The crimson eyes were unimpressed as they looked over the glimmering waterfall with a silent scowl. Even from where he stood, he could feel the  _ light _ that radiated from the waters beyond. Without a doubt it was Lanayru’s doing, the light spirit that watched over the waters that the Zoras claimed. If he hadn’t been plagued by such a wretched mood, he would have gladly stomped down to the cavern that Lanayru hid in and extinguished its light. Yet  _ guilt _ was to overpowering and instead he found himself staring at the waterfall, contemplating.

           It wasn’t luck that had gotten him this far, he just hadn’t had a little run in with any Hyrulean soldiers. They would surely arrest him for suspicion as they had done so in the past, and even more so whenever the mess at the village was discovered. With that in mind, he had settled down to the idea of lying low, but why he chose the domain of the Zoras… he hadn’t a clue. He detested fish and their fishy smell. It was goddess-awful, but for the sake of successfully evading officials, it would have to do.

           However, he stayed where he stood. There was something wrong. Smile. He couldn’t muster up a pretty, little smile. Perhaps he had overdone it this time with the killing. He gave a tilt to his head as if actually thinking it over and agr-- no, blood was blood. The very thought brought a curl to his upper lip, but already he could tell that the very gesture wasn’t enough. Innocence did not give off a sadistic smile like his. Of course, right when his thoughts circled around blood, there was no helping it. The color, the very essence of it was—

           “Oh, may I help you Hylian?”

           Link nearly gagged. The voice was peppered with sugar and even on the verge of being song-like. Yet he unwillingly found himself holding back from strangling the speaker as he turned, glaring. “No,” the very answer was sudden, so sudden in fact that he had even surprised himself.

_ How will that get you to find a place of shelter? _

           The speaker, a feminine Zora--both genders looked alike to him so the thing  _ could _ be a male-- gave a chuckle. It was rather unnerving and entirely unexpected. She laughed.  _ Laughed _ . Usually people took offense to his usual, acidic tone. Reluctant and slightly irritated, he looked the fish over with a skeptical gaze. It looked like any other feminine fish of her kind, but her skin took on a golden hue as did her eyes. It was as if the very sun had given birth to her. Her scales were something out of the ordinary, while normal Zora scales gave off multiple colors in the water and certain lights, hers remained sun-kissed. Even the eyes were odd, a deep burgundy with the hint of gold. The irises were not as red as blood—his—but they were different nonetheless.

“Sorry, you just looked lost? Maybe troubled? I didn’t mean to bother you,” as she spoke, her head tentacles wiggled to and fro, and for some damn reason that was all he could focus on, head tentacles. “I’m the daughter of Ralis, my name is Rutela,” she placed a webbed hand on her bare chest, “If you need me…”

           His attention dropped from there and his thoughts scattered on the verge of  _ mild _ insanity. Ralis and Rutela, he’d heard of those names before long ago. It was a beautiful tragedy, a queen and a mother’s death and a son’s life on the  _ verge _ of death. It would have been exquisite if only the “Hero” hadn’t stepped in and ruined it all. Oh, but the daughter, child of Ralis!

           “And I’m sure you can ask anyone else for help as well. We’re all very friendly, I promise!”

           He refrained from blinking, portraying confusion, and practically anything else that would have given him away to the fact that he hadn’t listened to a single thing she had blabbered. Nevertheless, Link did catch onto the word “help” like his very life depended on it. “Actually,” he began, eyes finally lifted away from her head tentacles, “I was wondering if Zoras offered shelter? I’ve travelled quite a ways and have grown rather exhausted from building a makeshift tent here and there. It would be nice to settle for a day or two.”

           The appearance of pity was almost murderous. At that moment he didn’t know what angered him more, pity or judgment. Her golden smile had withered into a look of despair. Why, if he didn’t know any better, he would have believed she felt that it was her fault that he had a tiring traveler’s life. “Of course. I’m sure my father would be more than happy to make accommodations for you,” Rutela gave a nod as if to reassure herself, and the smile bounced right back as if it had never faltered at all, “Would you like to meet him in person, the King of Zoras?”

           Another giggle.

           Link would have visibly cringed at the bouncing laughter… would have; however, the notion of visiting royalty made  _ him _ giggle. Just that one thought made the guilt that had lovingly clung to him vanish.

           Yes, he’d be  _ more _ than  _ happy _ to meet the beloved King of Zoras.

           He’d be delighted.

* * *

 

           With a crack, the single, wooden door slammed open with such noise that it gave the princess of Hyrule a fright. She stood from her chair, twirled madly in her skirts to find the noisy culprit, but as she turned on her naked heels did she jump back. Frustration, clear betrayal, and something else met her head-on. The man’s face was like an open book as he lunged at her, Zelda expected the immediate reason without even a glance to the document that was clutched tightly by his pale fingers.

           “What is the meaning of this?” However she did not expect his tone. Hesitantly, she took a larger step back from her writing desk and the heavily breathing male, moving delicately as if not wishing to scare the man off. Truth be told, she had gotten to know the man ever since their proper greeting after the Twilight Mirror shattered, but she’d never seen him like this.

“Zelda.”

“Why are you so bent out of shape over—”

“I asked you and you—”

“Link, there was and is nothing—”

“It’s my duty as a He—”

           She slammed her fist down on the edge of the writing desk that she had been working on for the past four hours. For the love of Din, there were more things to deal with other than the Kakariko Massacre. Preparations, trials, investigations, and so much more necessary things to where she didn’t have time to deal with a worn out… worn out…

_ Exhausted hero. _

           “It  _ was _ your duty, Link. Was,” the princess clicked her tongue, stabbed her finger at the writing desk’s face with each word. She didn’t even have to guess on which emotion would flood his face next as he clutched the article to his chest.

_ Despair _ .  _ Denial _ .

           “Hyrule needs me just as she always has.” It was becoming something of a prayer. She’d heard it time and time again whenever something seemingly dire happened in Hyrule. Link always insisted on fixing it, poured his heart and soul into it, and each time he returned, he seemed more out of it the next. Hyrule could breathe without her hero always stepping into even the smallest of matters. Yes, the massacre was not a small event, but it wasn’t the work of an oncoming darkness and that was another reason why the princess had refrained from informing the Hero.

           “Not with this. My people have lived through countless tragedies without the golden Hero. We can live through this.”

           “Are you saying not to worry over a village’s death?”

           “Of course not, but you cannot do anything about it. There is no evidence that it was a force of darkness, there is no evidence to any known individual, and therefore there is no need for your heroic actions. Let me and my soldiers deal with this because like it or not, Hyrule cannot always count on her Hero. Yes, the event was an incredible tragedy, and I am doing everything in my power to find out who or what did this.”

           The princess glared in a childish manner, brows furrowed as her small nose scrunched up in a rather comical manner, but the Hero saw nothing humorous. Instead, he saw betrayal. It was a small act, yes, but it meant dearly to him. Without his title he felt alone. Without his name he felt nonexistent. Without his task as a Hero he felt useless. Of course, if he spoke these despairing thoughts aloud then the princess would shoo them away with a wag of her finger. She would blame it on his year long journey in Twilight, how the events had been traumatic, and all that goat shit.

           He’d heard it numerous times.

           “Just let me help, I—”

           Zelda raised a dainty hand, glared, “As I have said, Hyrule cannot always count on her Hero, Link. If we keep relying on you, you might go insane, or worse… never come back from a journey. Besides, if you keep flaunting around and acting as the Hero then the people will start to use and abuse your name. They will not desire to do anything for themselves, offensive or defensive. They need to stand up for themselves because you are not immortal and you will not be around to help for all eternity. The Goddesses gifted you to Hyrule for protection when darker times showed themselves and as far as I am concerned, we just have some lunatic running amok. There is no darkness, no Ganon, no Zant, nothing. Now drop this conversation and leave my residence. I have work to do,” with that she turned her back, skirts twirled and nipped at her ankles, “Go back to protecting the streets, fields, Ordon and enjoying life as it is.”

           Reluctance. At her words he wanted to scream, shout, cry, throw a childish tantrum, but in the end he obeyed. Reluctantly he turned his own back to the princess and unwillingly left without another word. How could he when he was feeling so much ferocity to the point of actually desiring something to whack at with his blade? The very thought made him sick to his stomach. Was he that angry over something so… so what? Small, large, sporadic? He shook his head as he continued sulking down the castle halls. She’d told him to go back to protecting his village that he had left, his home, but in reality Hyrule was his  _ home _ , more so than anyone else’s.

           He couldn’t blame his anger on princess Zelda. She did not know what he had to go through to save her and the kingdom. She did not lose someone precious to her. She did not battle the mindset of a blue-eyed beast. In truth, all she ever did was—all she ever does—sit and chatter.

* * *

 

_ The thrones towered into the white void of a sky, reached so far up to the point where the backs of the magnificent chairs seemed to never end. Golden as they were, each surface glistened with a bit of “something.” The appearances seemed to gain a sort of spirit within them for the first shifted with angry fires, the second shimmered like water, and the third moved like the leaves of a tree. Still, the chairs were gold. _

_            Atop the three thrones that reflected that of the land’s elements, three women of white flesh and obsidian eyes leaned forward within their conversation. Their long gowns were of silk, colored to replicate the many colors that glistened amongst their chairs. The attire fitted nicely, hugging the bosom while flowing out about the body in the act of mimicking a waterfall. Oh, but their hair, all long and curled, but each with a different attitude. The first’s hair was a fiery, wild mess of strands that poked this way and that, and it seemed to hold a bit of liveliness to it at the ends for they shifted like flames. The second’s was a soft, gentle blue that waved down the shoulders and back, curled around the arms and legs. The third’s was a dark green that fell to the floor, separate strands claiming different paths like that of vines on a tree’s flesh. _

_            “But he is only a child,” remarked the third, the green-haired maiden. _

_            “A child who is extremely dangerous and liable to end everything that we’ve created,” replied the first, the red-head. _

_            The second, the woman of blue, held back her words. An elbow rested on her armchair, fingers tapped against her snowy lips, and her coal eyes wandered from the women before her, she considered. The topic at hand had been reaching this point for quite a while, but at the time not one had desired to speak out the issue until now. The sudden change was from the red-head, Din, who was gradually losing patience. “But what of his origin? His soul is tied with Sister Farore,” the woman of blue gestured with a nod of her head to the woman of green. _

_            “That is irrelevant. There can only be one Chosen Hero, Sister Nayru. Even if this child is a mere remnant, it is going to tamper with the balance,” din grumbled in turn. _

_            “This is true, but the child is still a part of the Hero; therefore, it can do no harm… as long as it remains in the correct mindset.” _

_            “Clearly it has fallen from that.” _

_            “Perhaps, but take a second look at it. It’s crying out, begging for life to give it a second chance. Do you not hear it, see it? It’s struggling to remain intact, inside and out, but the  _ reject of the Triforce _ continues to twist its mind, body, and soul. If we were to take this reject out, perhaps the balance would remain as is. There is no way that there could be two Heroes, this child is a remnant and nothing more. It will amount to nothing.” _

_            “Either way, it does not matter. The reject is trying to go against the Hero. Sister Farore’s Hero will definitely end such a disgusting and disgraceful existence.” _

**Author's Note:**

> I will probably come back and re-edit this again, but I'm curious to see what feedback I will receive here. Please destroy me at will, yeah?


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